


3 - Awkward

by distantstarlight



Series: 31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 31 Days of Porn Challenge, Gay Sex, M/M, PWP, Probably never actually do this, Sherlock Misses John, Sherlock trying sexy talk to himself, Sherlock wanks sadly, This could be embarrassing, compromising positions, day three, unusual sex toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 09:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10806525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight
Summary: Sherlock begins to masturbate with the deflated balloon John drew a face onto during sad wanks alone. John catches him. Sex follows.*probably don’t ever do this





	3 - Awkward

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third prompt for the Porn Challenge "Unusual Sex Toys"

John had certainly meant it to be sarcastic or at least _meaningful_. The balloon had been tied to John’s chair and Sherlock had ignored it just as he’d been ignoring John. John assumed Sherlock was just being an arse but he wasn’t. He was re-learning endurance. Sherlock was learning to live without John in his life because John had fallen in love with someone else and had left Sherlock behind, despite everything Sherlock had done to keep John safe and alive. John had chosen Mary over Sherlock and the balloon was all Sherlock had left.

Admittedly, he’d been a bit high the first time he tried it. The balloon wasn’t airtight and after a few days, all of its buoyancy had been lost. What remained was shrivelled and flaccid. Sad. Pathetic. Exactly how Sherlock had felt. For some reason, Sherlock had found a pair of scissors and cut off the neck right above the knot. It left behind a penis sized hole and then the idea occurred to him. He took the precaution of slicking his erection thoroughly before slipping the used balloon over his cock. It hung on him like an oversized condom, the face John had drawn onto it misshapen and stretched.

Sherlock closed his fist over it and rubbed. It made a weird squeaking sound but the slide of it was intriguing. It clung to him and the distraction of keeping it on was enough to keep him from getting bored. He could see the shape of himself through it, could smell the material it was made from, but what managed to move him at all was John. _John had touched this balloon, had blown it up with the air from his lungs. Particulates of saliva and other matter would be coated on the interior and were probably being transferred right now_.

Sherlock found himself getting excited. _It was like receiving a second-hand blowjob from John! His mouth wasn_ _’t directly here but it had been on the balloon!_ Now Sherlock regretted cutting the knot off since that was the part where John’s mouth had actually been but then again, he would never have been able to fit inside it. Still, thinking of how John’s mouth would have looked as he blew up the toy excited Sherlock further and his hand began to move faster. He wondered what it would feel like to have John wrap his lips around the end of Sherlock’s cock and that was it. With a loud groan, he orgasmed and it was brilliant.

Sherlock washed the balloon out and hid it in a baggie in his room beneath his older socks. It became his habit to use it, the frequency of his wanking increasing to a daily event as he missed John’s presence. He wished John would move back in with him. _Maybe then he wouldn_ _’t need to rub off with an old balloon. Perhaps he_ _’d finally figure out a way to convince John to have sex with him. Even pity sex would be welcome. Maybe he could convince John that he was a virgin. People liked virgins, didn_ _’t they?_ Sherlock needn’t mention how he’d slept with almost thirty percent of his first-year uni class just to test variables. _It had been for science. He wasn_ _’t a slag_. Once he hit 100 samples, he’d stopped and that STI had been completely curable and he’d been careful ever since.

Sherlock began to wank all over 221 B Baker Street. He didn’t have a flatmate after all, and John only visited when he had time after work and there was someone to look after Rosie, which was practically never. Finally, Sherlock settled for John’s old room, preferring to lay on John’s old quilt, with John’s old pillow over his face as he tugged and pulled his lonely erection to completion. He was careless, ejaculating messily over quilts and pillowcases, but not so careless that he allowed Mrs Hudson to do the laundry. When it became too much, he found a towel that John used to use for his showers and began to catch his mess with that. Sherlock found John’s old cane hidden deep inside his mostly empty wardrobe and found that if he wedged between John’s mattress and headboard at just the right angle and put a condom over the rubberized tip, it slid in nice and easy into his anus. It made his orgasms even more intense.

Sherlock very often lost himself in these little fantasies, riding John’s cane and wanking with John’s balloon in John’s room. He moaned freely, carefully rocking himself on the hard bit of steel, not so vigorously that he hurt himself but still rough enough that he knew he would feel it for several days after. Today he was face-down on the bed, his knees spread wide to hold his backside up at just the perfect height, his hips rising and dropping as he impaled himself. He didn’t try hiding how he was huffing and puffing loudly, sighing and urging himself on, “I’d take you so deep, John. You want to fuck me, don’t you? You want to shove that naughty bit of meat deep into my rectum and fill it with spunk, don’t you?” Sherlock fisted himself and went as fast as he could, almost bellowing John’s name into the pillow as he spurted his newest load into the much-used balloon.

He heard panicked steps hammering up the stairwell and then, to his horror, a voice at the bedroom door that he had failed to close even slightly. “Sherlock? You were screaming.”

He froze. _No. Not now. This was NOT THE DAY when John finally secured an overnight babysitter so he could drop by!_ Sherlock was acutely aware of the cane up his arse and the leaking balloon over his cock. He was completely nude and perfectly presented for John to see entirely. The bed was in clear view of the doorway. There was no hiding what he’d been up to even if his loud moans and shouting John’s name hadn’t already provided _the real John Watson_ with usable clues. “Was I?” His voice was cool and collected as he pulled himself off the cane with a slurp, and managed to slide the balloon off his rapidly shrinking cock. He didn’t manage to catch the mess but most of it landed on the towel beneath him. It didn’t help anything when his body decided to noisily expel a good deal of the gases which had been trapped when he pushed John’s cane inside him.

“Are…are you okay?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Er?”

“Tea?”

“Um.”

“There’s a fresh container of loose-leaf in the cabinet.”

“Uh.”

“I’ll be a couple of minutes if you don’t mind.”

“Well.”

John left and Sherlock listened closely but the front door hadn’t slammed shut. As far as he could tell, John was still in the flat. _Well, that was something. He might have run away completely_. Sherlock knew he could scale the wall outside John’s window and be in the alley in less than thirty seconds, but also knew that he was totally naked, having left his clothing rather carelessly in the kitchen. With a sigh, he got to his feet, collected up the filthy balloon and managed to hold it as well the cane before trying to wrap the sticky towel around his hips.

It was more than slightly awkward to make his way to his bedroom to access the bathroom, and obviously the shower, before getting clean clothing and carefully tucking his newly washed balloon back into its hiding spot. Sighing again, he hung John’s cane on the back of his bedroom door to dry since he’d washed it as well, and tried to think of some way to delay going into the kitchen.

John was sitting primly at the kitchen table, his eyes fixed firmly on the teacup in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice that the teabag he'd opted for was in and that he’d forgotten to pour in any hot water into the cup even though he was raising the cup to his mouth and making sipping sounds. “Where’s mine?”

Sherlock’s tea was on the counter in a similar state. He checked the kettle which had at least boiled and filled his cup before fixing John’s, “So, how was work?” Sherlock attempted nonchalance.

“You had my _cane_ up your arse.”

Sherlock winced, “Isn’t it flu season? You must be dreadfully busy. I haven’t seen you in days.”

“Sherlock, is your arse alright? That had to be dangerous! Have you checked your anus for tears? Do you have any idea how terrible anal fissures are? I think I need to check you over for damage, I may need to prescribe you some suppositories. Do you feel anything irritating or painful?”

“You mean like the conversation I’m attempting to avoid?”

“Sherlock, this is serious!”

“Then _no_ , John! There is no damage. My arse feels fantastic, thanks for asking. I had a lovely little solo-shag and I feel splendid. How was your day?”

“Sherlock,” John hesitated and seemed to steel himself to continue, “My cane is a _medical device_ , not a sex toy. It was never designed to be inside anyone. You…”

“I’ve done so on numerous occasions and apart from some rather stunning orgasms, nothing happened.” Sherlock wanted to leave and regretted not putting on shoes when he had a chance. He wished John would just stop talking about his anus, and drop the subject forever.

“Sherlock!”

“For goodness sakes, John, what!?”

“Sherlock, I just found you with what looked like a foot of my old cane shoved up your arse while you whacked off with…with…was that the balloon?”

“Yes.” Sherlock was entirely dejected. John wasn’t going to drop this and was going to force Sherlock to stumble along with him as he attempted to understand.

“In my bedroom.”

“Yes.”

“On my towel.”

“Yes!”

“In my bed!”

“Yes John, everything was yours! Are you happy now!” Sherlock pushed himself away from the counter and tried to stalk away but John was up and around the table before he could make his getaway, gripping his forearm firmly. “John, let me go.”

“Absolutely not, you nutter.” Sherlock felt his heart give a painful throb as John scoffed, “All these years, Sherlock, all these years I chased after you, hoping for just a taste of you, and you wait until after I got married before you let me know that I might have had you ages ago, if I’d only known! Why now? Why didn’t you say something before? You had to have known how much I wanted you, everyone in London fucking knew! Why…why…why did you let me get married, why did you make me be alone without you for so long?”

Sherlock was reeling. _He_ _’d expected shouting! He_ _’d expected lectures and cautionary explanations filled with doctorly concerns. He hadn_ _’t expected John to look like he was on the verge of crying, the pain on his face real and completely lacking in humour or jest_ , “John. You said you weren’t gay.”

“I’m not, you colossal fool! I’m bisexual or did you miss that, _Mr thank-you-for-your-interest-but-I-consider-myself-married-to-my-work?_ I _told_ you about my ex-boyfriends, or who did you think Bill Murray was, or how did you think I knew Mike Stamford? He’s bisexual too, we were together briefly in medical school, that’s why he recognised me so easily after I came back. I introduced him to his wife before I left for the army!”

 _There was always something!_ Sherlock chastised himself for not paying attention to John’s frequent monologues about his past. They went on for some time when they happened, and often he just tuned out, wandering in his mind palace until John was done. _John was right. He was a colossal fool. If he hadn_ _’t been so dismissive of the importance of such conversations and revelations, he might have successfully negotiated a sexual relationship with John years ago instead of needing to resort to buggering himself on a cane and rubbing himself raw inside a balloon_. “What about the house you had with your wife?”

John gave a meaningful look at the entryway, and finally, Sherlock saw what he should have noticed immediately. There was a large backpack and two hard-cover suitcases, “I left Mary’s place. I was going to sell it but I needed to talk to you first.”

“Me? Why me?” Embarrassing situation forgotten, Sherlock focused on John, “Explain.”

John shifted uncomfortably, “Well, I wanted to ask if I could move back to Baker Street. I wanted to know if you would mind me and my daughter living with you. We can share the upstairs bedroom.”

“No.”

“Oh.” John’s shoulders sagged, “I’ll um, write up a script for you for a suppository anyway, I know you said nothing hurt but…”

“No thanks, John, and not _no_ to moving back, but no to you and Rosie sharing your bedroom upstairs.”

John’s face reflected the growing hope he clearly had, “Where would we stay, then?”

“Rosie can have my old room. It’s more convenient to keep her where it’s warmer and quieter. There’s space for the infant furnishings she requires, as well as space for her to play. You can sleep in your room…with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“John, I’ve been masturbating in your bed, on your blanket, with your pillow, using your cane and a balloon that you left behind, I think it’s pretty clear what I want from you. Do you really think that I’m just going to let you move back to Baker Street and _not_ try to share a bed with you, and let me be _very_ specific here, and to engage in _numerous_ sexual activities with each other?”

“Is this your subtle way of telling me you want me?”

“John, if you would be so kind, could you see your way to shoving your hard cock up my bum sometime in the immediate future? I’d be ever so grateful.”

“My cane is right over there, are you sure?”

“If that’s what you prefer, John, I’ve done it before.”

With a laugh, John caught Sherlock in a tight embrace, “You really are a complete nutter.”

“You’re the one who wants to copulate with a man who gratifies himself with temporary medical supports.”

“Let’s not forget the balloon.”

“I’ll get it preserved for posterity, somehow.”

“Can we have sex now?”

“I’ve been _asking_ , John, your room. I have condoms and lube there.”

“Yeah, I’m betting you do.”

“You do understand that I am fully capable of pleasuring myself if all you’re going to do is take cheap shots at me.”

“This may be my only chance; I have to make the most of it.”

John’s grin was everything Sherlock had dreamed of. It was sincere, vibrant, just a bit naughty, and completely devastating. John escorted Sherlock directly upstairs and proceeded to perform what Sherlock decided was a highly implausible medical exam. In no way was a penis a medical tool, but John did probe him deeply with it several times and it was so much better than John’s cane and far better than anything else Sherlock had inserted to him, ever. This time when he made a mess on John’s bed, John helped him and added his own contribution to the disaster the bedcover had become. Sherlock was greedy so after allowing John to sleep for a couple of hours, he stroked the mostly unconscious doctor back into full hardness before he rode John vigorously into a mutually satisfying orgasm. John paid him back a few hours later, using Sherlock so hard that he nearly asked for the suppository prescription for real.

In the end they both decided that the sex frenzy was over. Neither of them was capable of having full-on sex multiple times a day with any frequency. John moved Rosie into the flat after they cleaned themselves up, and by the end of their first day were mostly settled in, temporarily at least. There was still a lot to deal with, but those were problems for another day. For now, they had enough to keep them busy, especially when John presented Sherlock with an entire sack filled with new balloons and a new felt marker, “For science.”

Sherlock grinned down at his lover, “For science, John.”


End file.
